Hillian1
( . ) ( . )
I can top that a tad.
John was in the Sussex in Hove with a few mates the night England were playing Croatia at Wembley in the final qualifier - the Wally with the Brolly game. Now John Byrne happens to be my ALL TIME favourite Albion player, so I was suitably starstruck when I saw him across the bar, chatting with his mates. So at half time, its my round. And having had enough beers for the dutch courage, I bought an extra pint of Guiness, minced over to John, put in in front of him and said "cheers John. You're my favourite Albion player of all time, so I just wanted to get you a pint".
He said "oh cheers mate, thanks a lot". We raised our glasses and I floated back to my crew.
The game ended in disaster, as history will record. So as me and my mates filed out of the pub, past His table, John Byrne clocks me and says "hang on mate, want a pint ?". Time stood still. A clock ticked in the background. The bar went silent. The world slowed, and lurched on its axis. "I'd love one John", I stammered. And at that, John Byrne, the man who I had seen nutmeg Julian Dicks. The man who I had drawn (with knee strapping) on my map of England showing the grounds I'd visited. The man who had sent me into convulsions of ecstacy at Anfield with his diving header for 2-2, was standing at the bar getting me a pint of Kronenbourg.
I had an hour in his company, with his friends, talking bollocks about football. My friends had all ****ed off, but I cared not a jot. One of the best nights of my life.
I once spilled my pint on Gerry Ryan's plastered leg in the Ship in Cuckfield after asking him for an autograph.
I bought him a pint.
He didn't buy one back.